The Cure for the Common Cold
by Alyssa2
Summary: JJ is out sick. Drake is confused. WAFF ensues.


The Cure for the Common Cold  
  
-  
  
"So, do either of you know where the fuck JJ's crawled off to hide?"  
  
Ryou looked up from the paperwork he had been filling out as Drake collapsed into his chair. Quickly swallowing his bite of sandwich, he answered, "Didn't anyone tell you? He had to take off sick."  
  
"That's putting it nicely," Dee said and snorted, finishing off his potato chips. "He was assigned first shift today, right? Well, he came in looking like he'd just crawled out of his own grave. We practically had to shove him out the door to make him go home and rest."  
  
Drake closed his eyes and groaned, unwrapping his sub sandwich. "That idiot. He seriously tried to report to work like that?"  
  
"He did," Ryou said, returning to his paperwork.   
  
Dee glowered disapprovingly across his desk at his partner, who was eating his sandwich with one hand and doing the paperwork with the other. "Why the hell do you do work at lunch, anyway? You make the rest of us look like bums."   
  
"Well, some of you are," Ryou sniped lightly, once his mouth was no longer full. "Not to name names, of course."  
  
"Oh, no, of course not," Dee said sarcastically. "Love you too. So anyway... yeah, JJ seriously looked bad. The chief came in while we were trying to make him go the hell home and asked us what was going on. JJ saluted, and damn near fell over." He shook his head. "It was really pathetic."  
  
Drake sighed and massaged his forehead. "Poor guy. He tries way too hard."  
  
"Oh, I know. I think it broke his heart that he had to actually *use* all that sick leave he never fucking touches."   
  
"As if you do," Ryou said distractedly, signing the form he'd been filling out and setting it aside. "You and JJ aren't too different in that regard."  
  
Dee leaned back and chuckled. "Yeah, I'll give you that. I figure I'm good for about another twelve years before I get sick again."  
  
Ryou smiled at that, looking up at his partner. "The sad thing is, I think you're probably right."  
  
Dee grinned broadly, leaning across his desk and propping his chin on his hand. "You think?"  
  
Ryou's smile changed fractionally, into something clearly meant only for Dee. Drake immediately began to feel very uncomfortable with the situation, and cleared his throat before Ryou and Dee got any closer to each other. Casually, as if nothing had happened, Dee leaned back in his chair again and Ryou dropped his gaze to the rest of his paperwork.  
  
"You two are shameless," Drake muttered before taking a bite of his sandwich.  
  
"You're just jealous because you're not getting any," Dee said with a grin, and Ryou reached out to smack him lightly on the side of the head.   
  
"Dee, stop being an ass."   
  
Drake thought Dee had actually had a point, but bedamned if he was going to say so. He became very very interested in finishing his sandwich.  
  
Even though Drake was worried about the kid, it was half a relief that JJ wasn't here today. Drake hadn't really been able to think quite straight since JJ had kissed him that one day. It felt like he was only getting his job done because he was running on some kind of police autopilot; the rest of his brain was busy trying to figure out what the hell to do about this whole JJ thing. He remembered giving a report to Ryou for proofreading - a service that almost everybody in the office solicited from the poor, good-natured Japanese-American, and which Ryou was seriously considering starting to charge for - and not recognizing it when he got it back. It wasn't because of Ryou's changes, which were very few and basically limited to spelling corrections; it was just that Drake barely remembered writing the report. He had stared at the paper for two minutes, trying to recall where he had seen those words before. It sure looked like an official police report, and that was his name on it, but when the hell had he written it?  
  
It had been pretty much like that for the last two months.  
  
He kept wanting to go up to Ryou and ask him how the hell he had kept his sanity for so long, working with a man who was flirting with him at every turn. JJ barely allowed him time to think -- he never knew when his partner might spring another kiss on him.  
  
The worst part was the confusion. Drake knew that he was not gay. He wasn't very *successful* with women, but lack of attraction was not the problem. Usually his relationships ended because the girl had the attention span of a daisy, or the two of them realized that, despite great sex, they hated each other's guts; but he had always been genuinely attracted to every one of the women he had dated. He was just apparently attracted to all the wrong ones.  
  
So, that was fine. The only problem was, that left no explanation for why the *hell* he could still feel JJ's lips on his for hours after a small kiss, or why the press of JJ's compact little body against his for ten seconds left him feeling warm for the rest of the day.  
  
JJ's flirtation was actually kind of *nice*.  
  
Drake's brain was still stalling on that.  
  
And it had been down this train of thought at least twenty-five times over the last two months. Drake groaned and rubbed his forehead, trying to shake his thoughts into some kind of manageable order.  
  
"Did JJ really look that bad?"   
  
"Yeah, but knowing him he'll be at work tomorrow, all obnoxiously chipper and healthy." Dee grinned at Drake. "So don't worry, your paramour will survive."  
  
Ryou jerked his head up to stare at Dee in surprise while Drake choked and coughed and spluttered.  
  
"He's NOT my--"  
  
Dee threw his head back, holding his sides as he burst into raucous laughter. "Drake, I was messing with you! But you just proved me *right*!"  
  
Ryou took his glasses off and glared sternly at his partner. "Dee, leave him alone. Honestly, what's wrong with you today?"  
  
"Come on, Ryou, you know I'm right! Am I the only one who sees these things?"  
  
"Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, Dee." Ryou pointed his pen admonishingly at his lover. "And sometimes concern for one's partner is just concern for one's partner. JJ hardly ever gets sick, and here you're telling Drake that he looked like a walking corpse."  
  
"He *did*," Dee defended himself.  
  
"And? If somebody told me that you -- wait, no. If somebody told *Ted*," Ryou said quickly, "that his partner looked that bad, he'd be just as worried as Drake is, I'm sure--"  
  
"JJ's been coming on to me for the last two months."  
  
Whatever Ryou might have said next died in his throat and he froze, mouth still open, pen still pointed at Dee. Dee also froze in mid-action, lifting his hand to point back at Ryou as he prepared a counter-argument. The two of them turned their heads to look at Drake in disbelief.   
  
Drake was grimacing, one hand fisted in his hair. "He's been flirting with me and kissing me and goddamn but I can't even *think* anymore, he's confusing the living *fuck* out of me and the damnedest thing is - is - shit, I'm *so* fucking *confused*..."  
  
The mini-tantrum ground to a halt. Dee and Ryou looked at each other wonderingly.   
  
Then Dee broke into a huge grin. "Sound familiar?"  
  
Ryou put down his pen and rubbed his temple, smiling ruefully. "A little bit."  
  
"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Drake growled, glaring up at the two of them.  
  
"You seem to have acute MacLeanitis," Dee said, grinning maniacally.  
  
"You're sleeping on the couch for that one," Ryou grumbled.  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
Ryou turned to Drake and smiled weakly. "He's saying you're acting the same way I did when he first started making advances on me."  
  
"And look how we turned out," Dee grinned, reaching across the desk to take Ryou's hand.  
  
Ryou gave him a weary but fond look, and squeezed Dee's hand in return. "Yes, somehow I've learned to put up with you."  
  
Dee immaturely stuck his tongue out at Ryou. Ryou chuckled and turned to Drake.   
  
"But don't let my obnoxious, loud-mouthed partner here force you into a decision," Ryou told him. "It took me two *years* to realize that I love him."  
  
"You're an airhead when it comes to romance, though," Dee said teasingly.   
  
"Couch, Dee."  
  
"Only if you join me."  
  
Ryou closed his eyes for a moment as if pleading for divine patience. "The *point* is, you shouldn't rush to try and figure this out. Don't take the rest of your life, but don't try to decide by tomorrow or anything."  
  
"You're saying it like there's something to decide," Drake growled, crumpling up his sandwich paper viciously and throwing it in the trash.  
  
"Well, there is." It was Dee this time, speaking seriously at last. "At the very least, you have to decide whether to say yes or no."  
  
Drake opened his mouth - probably to say something stupid like 'the answer is already no' - and found no words. He shut it again with a snap and stared obstinately at the desk.  
  
"I'm not gay," he said finally.  
  
"Neither am I," Dee said, at the exact same time Ryou said, "Neither is Dee." The two of them looked at each other, and Dee laughed while Ryou groaned and let his head fall to the desk.   
  
"Look, we even talk at the same time!"  
  
"Charming. I bet you finish each other's sentences, too," Drake muttered.  
  
"We *do*," Ryou moaned.  
  
Dee reached across the desk and ruffled Ryou's hair. "See, like I said, I'm not gay. But I'm not straight, either. I do like guys, and I'm more in love with Ryou than I thought I knew *how* to be." He grinned and gave Drake a thumbs-up. "Welcome to the wonderful world of bisexuality, Drake my man."  
  
"Dee, please shut up," Ryou said, head still on the desk.  
  
"What, I'm not allowed to express my love?" Dee made a kissy noise.  
  
"*That* part's fine," Ryou said, lifting his head, "but you can't just *tell* somebody what they are..."  
  
"Can you two please stop flirting at each other?" Drake groaned. "You're not making me feel any better here."  
  
"Sorry," Ryou said, sitting up straight and putting his glasses back on as Dee withdrew his hand. "But can I give you some advice?"  
  
Drake sighed and shrugged. "Why not?"  
  
"If you're so worried about JJ, go pay him a visit tonight after work," Ryou suggested with a smile.  
  
"I don't see how that'll help me figure anything out... but it's a good idea. I *am* worried about the little idiot," Drake admitted.  
  
Ryou's smile was ridiculously warm and knowing. Drake tried to ignore it.  
  
-  
  
That evening, Drake took a moment to wonder just what the hell he was doing in front of JJ's apartment with a bag full of assorted cold medication. Then, taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.  
  
There was no response for a while. Worried, Drake knocked again, harder. Still no answer. A third time - still silent.  
  
Just as Drake was about to force entry, the door opened.  
  
"...Holy *shit*," Drake said before he could think.  
  
JJ's hair was uncombed and sticking out at every angle. His face was ashen, with dark rings under his half-focused eyes. He looked every bit as sick as Dee had said.  
  
"Dammit, Drake, I'd just gotten to sleep," JJ moaned. He was so stuffed up and out of it that it came out slurred and sounding like, "D'bid Draig, I'd jz gddn t'sleeb."  
  
"Let me in. I've got medicine." Drake pushed past the unresisting JJ and set his bag down on an endtable. The living room looked comfortable and lived-in, with two couches at right angles to each other and a TV facing them. The TV was on what looked like some kind of cheesy drama.  
  
"I have no idea what's going on," JJ said with a sniffle, closing the door and waving vaguely at the TV.   
  
As he made his way to the larger couch, Drake could see why it had taken him so long to answer the door. He was walking very slowly, leaning on every stationary object between the door and his destination for support as he moved across the room. As he sat on the larger sofa and crawled under a thick fleece blanket that had been stretched over it, he entered a fit of horrible, racking coughs.  
  
"Jesus, JJ, you tried to come to work like this?"  
  
"I felt better this morning," JJ mumbled.  
  
Drake shook his head in disbelief, rooting through his bag. "From what Dee was telling me, that's like saying Lake Erie is less wet than the Mediterranean."  
  
JJ didn't actually say anything, just pulled the blanket up to his ears and curled up under it. Drake pulled a bottle of Nyquil out of his bag and pocketed a box of Sudafed just in case, then sat down at the other end of the couch.  
  
"You seriously look like shit, JJ," he said, eyeing the little ball of misery under the blankets with concern as he opened the bottle.   
  
"I *feel* like shit," JJ returned, and coughed again.  
  
"Well, you're going to have to sit up for a second," Drake warned, filling the Nyquil cap.   
  
JJ shuffled slowly up to a sitting position and blinked vaguely at him. "Oh, good," he said thickly as he focused on the medicine. "I was going to buy some of that this morning."  
  
"Don't you have any cold medicine at all in this apartment? Here."   
  
JJ took the cap in a slightly shaky hand and swallowed its contents quickly, making a face as he handed it back. He shuffled back under the blanket without answering Drake's question. Drake smiled and shook the little bundle of detective.  
  
"Hey, wouldn't you rather sleep in your bed?"  
  
JJ mumbled unintelligibly through the blanket.  
  
"I have no idea what you just said, but c'mon." Tugging the blanket off of JJ, he hauled his partner up to his feet, eliciting a weak protest. He draped JJ's arm over his shoulder and slipped one hand around the other man's waist. JJ's skin felt a little too hot, and Drake frowned. "Let's go. Where's your bedroom?"  
  
"Down the hall, first door to the right..." JJ's voice trailed off blearily. Drake made his way to the indicated door as fast as he could with an ill JJ in tow. Opening the door while holding JJ up proved to be a small challenge, but it was quickly overcome.  
  
As Drake pulled back the covers on JJ's bed, JJ turned his head away and started coughing again; Drake had never realized that coughing could be such a nasty, wet sound. He stood there awkwardly, JJ still hanging on his shoulder, feeling the way his partner's body shook with every cough. As JJ worked through the fit, all Drake could think about was how much he wished the kid would get better soon. This was worrisome.   
  
"Come on. Bed." Drake shrugged out from under JJ's arm, and JJ sat down heavily, crawling under the covers. He let out a quiet, miserable-sounding little moan. Drake sighed and swept JJ's hair back out of his face. The touch confirmed his earlier suspicions - his partner was really burning up.  
  
"Poor baby," Drake said quietly. "Is it okay if I stay here tonight? I mean, I don't want to leave you alone like this."  
  
"'S just a cold," JJ whispered. "I'll be fine..."  
  
"Maybe you will, but you look like death warmed over and you sound miserable, so I'm going to stay over and take care of you. No argument, okay? Lemme go get a wet washcloth or something. I'll be right back."  
  
JJ made a little sound of acknowledgement, and Drake slipped out of the room. His first trip was to the living room, to turn off the TV and grab the bag of cold medicine. That was followed by a few moments' wandering through JJ's apartment looking for a bathroom.   
  
Drake found himself memorizing the apartment. JJ had obviously been renting the place for some time; everything inside seemed to have molded itself around him. It fit him perfectly. Trying to find his way in a place that felt so utterly tailored around JJ was bizarrely comfortable, and just as bizarrely depressing.   
  
Absently, he wondered if meandering through your sick partner's apartment in search of a washcloth was supposed to inspire deep thoughts.  
  
Finding a bathroom at last, he snagged a washcloth and, when a shorter search for some kind of basin proved fruitless, simply ran the cloth under the tap and carried it to JJ's room.  
  
JJ was half asleep when Drake arrived, stirring and making a small noise as Drake placed the damp, folded cloth on his forehead. Setting the bag of medicine on the table, Drake shrugged off his jacket and kicked off his shoes, sitting next to JJ on the too-large bed.  
  
"That feel better?"  
  
"Mmmhmm." JJ scooted a little further under the covers. "Thank you."  
  
"Least I can do, right?" Drake leaned back on one of the massively oversized pillows and watched him. After a while, he reached out and ruffled JJ's already unkempt hair. "Now, you'd better get over this."  
  
"I will." JJ sighed, stretched, and settled back down. Drake stroked absently at his hair, watching the smaller man's pale face. JJ opened his eyes and turned his head slightly under Drake's hand to look at him.  
  
JJ's eyes were bluer, Drake thought, than they had any right to be.  
  
Not breaking the eye contact, JJ let a tiny little smile onto his face. Something inside Drake twisted and settled.   
  
Before taking any time to think about it, Drake found himself leaning down over JJ, bracing one arm on the mattress on JJ's other side, his eyes sliding shut. There was a rustle of cloth as he closed in.  
  
His lips met pajama flannel.  
  
Eyes snapping open, Drake jerked back in surprise. "JJ?"  
  
The rustle of cloth had been JJ bringing his arm out from under the covers and putting it between Drake's mouth and his. Drake was just about to get very annoyed about that - JJ could kiss *him* as much as he damn well pleased, but wouldn't let Drake do the same thing back?! - when JJ moved his arm away from his mouth and spoke.  
  
"I'm sorry, Drake," he said, and his voice - hoarse from coughing, thick with congestion - sounded very small and pathetic. "I don't want you to get sick too."  
  
Drake opened his mouth, ready to protest and bluster, but finally shut it and sighed, rolling back to his previous sitting position. "Fair enough. Dammit."  
  
"But, Drake?"   
  
As Drake turned to face him again, JJ took his hand and squeezed. Drake blinked, staring dumbly first at their linked hands, and then at JJ's face.   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"Thank you." And JJ smiled, warm and genuine and bright despite his sickness, and closed his eyes, snuggling back down into the covers, still holding Drake's hand.   
  
He fell asleep that way. Somewhat later, Drake did too; he couldn't quite find it in him to take his hand away.  
  
-  
  
His hand was empty when he woke up.  
  
Blinking and stretching slowly, Drake turned to look at JJ's side of the bed. It was vacant, the covers thrown carelessly back. He frowned and got up, not stopping to put his shoes back on as he left the room.  
  
The TV was on. Stepping into the living room, he saw JJ curled up on the couch, watching whatever was on - some kind of cartoon, it seemed - and eating a Pop-Tart. Drake had to grin.  
  
"JJ?"  
  
"Oh! Good morning, Drake!" JJ turned to smile and wave at his partner.   
  
JJ did not look like a man who had been miserably ill the night before. His face was still a little pale, he still sounded a little congested, and he *still* hadn't combed his hair, but he was smiling brightly and looked worlds better than he had last night. Dee's voice and the phrase 'obnoxiously chipper and healthy' popped into Drake's head.  
  
"Feeling better?" Drake asked, unnecessarily.  
  
"Much better. Thank you for coming over," JJ said, still smiling. "I think it helped a lot."  
  
Drake laughed, sitting down beside JJ on the couch. "You're not saying I cured you, are you?"  
  
"No, not cured--" JJ quickly covered his mouth as he started coughing. It didn't sound half as bad as it had before. "--because I'm still sick. But I do think it helped. You're too good to me, Drake."  
  
Drake looked up at the ceiling in embarrassment. "Hey, I didn't do that much. I gave you some Nyquil and a wet cloth."  
  
JJ started to say something, then just laughed. "You know perfectly well that's not all you did, but I'll leave it at that."  
  
There was an awkward silence, which Drake hurried to fill. "So, now that you're feeling better, are you coming in to work today?"  
  
"I was thinking about it--" JJ coughed again. "--except I'm still coughing and stuffed up, obviously, and I feel kind of dizzy when I stand up, so I think I'll stay home and sleep the rest of this off. I'll come in tomorrow, though, okay?"  
  
"Alright, that's fine. I'd rather you do that anyway. Are you going to be okay on your own today?"  
  
JJ grinned. "I'm a big boy, Drake, I've been living alone for years now. I'll be fine."  
  
"You know what I meant," Drake said sourly.  
  
"I know. I'll be fine, I really do feel a lot better." Abruptly, JJ uncurled, scooted forward and wrapped his arms around Drake, snuggling into his shoulder.  
  
"JJ? I have to go get ready, I *am* going to work today," Drake reminded him, though he was half tempted not to.  
  
"I know." JJ held on a little longer, giving a long, contented sigh. Just before he let go, he lifted his head to brush his lips against Drake's cheek. "Feel free to come over again tonight, if you want to."  
  
On his way to the bedroom, Drake stopped and smiled. "You know, I just might." 


End file.
